


fighting dirty

by dickpuncher420



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sokka just wants to make him feel welcome, Swordbending, Zukka Week, Zuko is an Awkward Loner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickpuncher420/pseuds/dickpuncher420
Summary: “Come on, don’t you want to do something else besides firebending and brooding?” Sokka says.“I don’t brood,” Zuko says, frowning.—Sokka asks Zuko if he wants to spar.//For day 1 of Zukka Week 2018: Swords.





	fighting dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://ddickpuncher420.tumblr.com/post/168895713402/cool-guy-senpai-i-fucking-hate-that-trope-in).
> 
> Written for day 1 of Zukka Week 2018: Swords.

Zuko feels lost.

He’s grateful that the others welcomed him into their group, he really is, but he still can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong. He’s an outsider. An intruder.

It’s kind of hard to _not_ feel that way, given the circumstances. He sleeps on his own, apart from everyone else. His time is spent alternating between training the Avatar— _Aang_ —and trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The only time he really interacts with the others is when they’re eating together at meals, and even then he doesn’t say much. Just keeps his head down and tries to finish as fast as he can.

Katara hates him. He doesn’t really blame her. He figures he deserves it. 

At least Toph doesn’t seem to have it out for him the same way Katara does. He can handle being soaked every once in a while, but flying boulders or rockslides seem like they might be just a little too much for him. He still feels terrible, though, about burning her. Wonders if he’ll ever be able to make it up to everyone, after everything he’s put them through.

Training the Avatar has to count for something, though, right?

Zuko practices his forms alongside Aang, guides him through the movements. Corrects his stance when he falls out of balance, when his flames fly wide or sputter weakly from his palms.

It’s a work in progress. Aang is talented, for sure, but Zuko can’t help but feel, somewhere deep in his gut, that it won’t be enough to defeat his father.

It’s a depressing thought. 

Zuko drops his stance and wipes the sweat from his forehead. His palms are smudged with soot. He knows from experience that it’s on his face, too, wedged deep into the creases of his scar.

“That’s enough,” he calls out to Aang. Aang lets out a relieved sigh and drops to the ground, spread-eagled, his chest heaving.

“Thank the spirits,” Aang wheezes. “That was _brutal.”_

“Not nearly as brutal as the Fire Lord will be,” Zuko says. “That was nothing compared to what you’ll have to face.”

“I _know_ that,” Aang says. “I’m just tired. Can’t we take it a little easier sometimes? Have some fun?”

“You think the Fire Lord is going to take it easy on you? When that comet comes, the only thing he’s going to care about is destroying you, by any means necessary.”

“ _Geez,_ lighten up a little, jerkbender,” says a voice from behind him.

Zuko spins around. It’s Sokka, braced lazily against a nearby pillar. He gives Zuko a sleazy grin.

“Don’t call me that,” Zuko says.

“Why not?”

“Try calling him Sifu Hotman,” Aang says.

“ _Don’t call me that_ ,” Zuko says. “And go away. We’re training.”

“What? I thought we were done!” Aang whines.

“That’s what I thought too,” Sokka says. “Which is why I came over here.”

“What, to bother me? Because you’re doing a pretty good job of it, if that’s what you were aiming for.”

“What? No. Relax, dude. I just came to ask if you wanted to spar,” Sokka says.

“Spar? How?”

It’s then that Zuko notices the scabbard that Sokka is holding in his hand, partially hidden behind his back. He can’t see the sword, but the hilt looks expensive, if plain. It shines gold in the sunlight. He wonders if Sokka stole it.

“I didn’t know you could use a sword,” Zuko says.

“Right, but I know that _you_ do, so. Want to spar with me?”

Zuko can’t help but feel somewhat suspicious. “Why?”

“I don’t know, to practice? For fun? You do know what fun is, right?” Sokka says.

“I know what fun is,” Zuko snaps. “I just…why me? Don’t you have a bunch of friends that you would rather spar with?” 

“Well, I don’t want to spar with them,” Sokka says. “I want to spar with you.”

For some reason, that makes Zuko flush. He hopes that Sokka can’t tell how close he is to caving in.

But still…he feels skeptical. He doesn’t know good Sokka is, and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else, even if it’s by accident.

“I was planning on going to wash off…” Zuko hedges, stalling.

“Wash off later, you’ll just get sweaty again anyways,” Sokka says. “Come on, don’t you want to do something else besides firebending and brooding?”

“I don’t brood,” Zuko says, frowning.

“Zuko, can I go now?” Aang says. Zuko startles—he’d forgotten Aang was there.

He sighs. “Sure, whatever. Go.”

“Thanks, Sifu Hotman!” Aang bounds away, presumably to go be aggressively cheerful around the rest of the group.

“Training tomorrow at sunrise!” Zuko calls after him. “And fifty hot-squats every hour!” He hears a faint “ _Got it!”_ as Aang whisks away on an air scooter.

When he turns back, Sokka has made his way closer and is holding the scabbard out to him, an expectant look on his face.

“So…?” Sokka says, shaking the sword at him.

Zuko pushes the sword away and glares at him. “Fine. But don’t go crying when I kick your ass.”

“What makes you think you’re going to be doing the ass-kicking?”

Zuko shrugs. “Intuition?”

“Now that’s just rude,” Sokka says. “I’m offended. That was offensive, you know that, right?”

“It was meant to be,” Zuko says.

Sokka laughs. He sounds shocked, in a delighted sort of way. “Hey, you’re actually kind of funny, you know that? In a rude, sarcastic sort of way.”

“Thank you?” Zuko says. He’s not sure if that was an insult or not.

“You’re welcome,” Sokka says. He brandishes his scabbard at Zuko, nearly smacking him in the chest. He shoots Zuko a grin. “Now, shall we?”

—

They run into everyone else on their way to Zuko’s room to pick up his dao swords. 

Katara peers at him suspiciously. He doesn’t blame her. Zuko hasn’t really made an effort to spend time with anybody but Aang, so seeing him alone with her brother might seem like cause for concern. “What are you two up to?” she says.

“Nothing,” Zuko says.

“Liar,” Toph says. She’s lounging on the floor, and she smirks up at him when he scowls at her.

“Oh, they’re going to spar! Right?” Aang says. He practically bounces to his feet. “Can we come watch?”

Zuko wants to object, on instinct—he doesn’t feel very comfortable having everyone watch him beat the shit out of one of their friends—but Sokka butts in before he can answer. 

“Sure,” Sokka says. “You guys can all watch me kick Prince Angry Jerk’s butt.”

Zuko frowns. Is that what they call him when he’s not around?

“Ooh, sweet,” Toph says. “I want to see what other tricks Sparky is hiding up his sleeve.” With a loud rumble, she bends a slab of stone out of the ground, sending her hurling into an upright position. She lands deftly on her feet and dusts off her hands. “You guys coming?”

There’s a general chorus of assent, and everyone else climbs to their feet. Soon, Zuko has a small entourage at his heels, following him expectantly like a family of turtleducks as he leads them awkwardly to his room. 

“I, uh, just have to get my swords,” Zuko says, and quickly ducks inside, leaving the others waiting outside the door. As soon as it swings shut, he hears the muffled sound of voices start up, talking and laughing. Probably at his expense, but that’s only to be expected.

Zuko grabs the scabbard from beside his bedroll. He turns and goes to pull the door open, but then hesitates. There’s a particularly loud burst of laughter, and Zuko doesn’t know why, but it makes him feel…lonely. He’s never heard any of them laugh like that when he’s around. 

Well, that’s not really true. They have laughed _at_ him.

Zuko steels himself and pulls the door open. The talking immediately stops. Everyone turns to look at him. He feels uncomfortably exposed.

“It’s, um, this way,” he says.

“Lead the way,” Sokka says.

Zuko leads them through several passages and up a couple flights of stairs. The conversation picks up a little as they go, until everyone is chattering amongst themselves like old friends. Which they are, Zuko reminds himself. He’s the only one who’s new.

Sokka walks up front with Zuko, occasionally cracking jokes or commenting on the scenery. He drops back a couple of times to help carry Teo up the stairs, but mostly he just walks quietly beside Zuko. It’s…nice. Not awkward, at least.

They eventually arrive at a wide, open platform. The sun streams through the pillars, illuminating an area that is surprisingly free of debris. A small fountain sits in the middle of it, clear water spilling from the top. The ground is smooth and flat, free of holes or rocks to trip over. It’s the perfect place for a swordfight.

Sokka whistles appreciatively. “Damn, Zuko. How did you find this place?”

“I spend a lot of my free time, uh, exploring,” Zuko says. He doesn’t mention that he found this particular hideout years ago, when he was young and freshly exiled, a singular drive on his mind. In the middle of everything else that was going on, it offered him a spot of calm, a place where he could sit and do nothing, take a break from the turmoil that seemed to live inside his head. It took Uncle Iroh hours to find him, sitting with his bare feet in the fountain, staring quietly at the water, the sun long gone.

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Aang says. “It’s so pretty.”

“It’s alright,” Katara says.

Zuko walks forward to an open stretch of ground, far enough from the fountain so that there’s enough open space in every direction. He unsheathes his swords and drops the scabbard to the ground. They’re a familiar weight in his hands, the hilts nestled comfortably into the creases of his palms. 

He turns and finds the others hanging back, watching him from a distance.

“What are you waiting for?” Zuko says.

“Just giving you time to mentally prepare yourself,” Sokka says, and ambles towards him, stretching as he goes. He pulls his arm across his chest and says, “You know, don’t want you to cry too hard or anything when you lose.”

“Funny,” Zuko says.

The others settle down a ways away from the two of them, giving them a wide berth. Toph bends herself a chair to lounge on, and the rest of them take a seat on the ground.

“Beat him to dust, Sokka!” Katara calls out.

“Personally, I’m rooting for Sparky,” Toph says. 

“You’ll both do great!” Aang says.

Zuko rolls his shoulders and eyes Sokka. He’s sore from firebending practice, but he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to take him easily. Going off of their previous encounters, Sokka isn’t much of a fighter, and if the sword is a new addition, he’s bound to be inexperienced with it.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Zuko says. He doesn’t want to actually hurt him, after all.

“No way,” Sokka says. “Give me everything you got. Except for firebending. No bending allowed.”

“Yeah, no firebending, Zuko” Katara says. “It has to be a fair fight.”

“I got it. No bending,” Zuko says. He twirls his swords with a flourish. “Ready when you are.”

Sokka unsheathes his sword in one fluid motion. He carefully places the scabbard on the ground, and then pushes it away with his toe. It clatters noisily across the ground, sliding to a stop a couple of metres away from them.

“Let’s do this, princey boy,” Sokka says, pointing at him with his blade.

Zuko just gapes at him.

“What, never seen a space sword before?” Sokka says. He smiles and brings it up to his face, sliding his finger over its glossy black surface. It glints dangerously at him, razor sharp. For a split second, Zuko thinks that maybe they shouldn’t have used real swords.

“What is it made of?” Zuko asks. Curiosity gets the best of him. He’s impressed—he can’t help it. 

“Meteorite,” Sokka says. “I made her myself. My own blood, sweat, and tears.” He kisses the flat of the blade exaggeratedly.

_How?_ Zuko wants to ask. But he pushes the thought away, deciding that it’s a question for another time. When they’re not about to kick the shit out of each other.

He shakes the hair out of his eyes and turns his swords towards the ground. Taking his cue, Sokka does the same, and they bow to each other. 

Zuko straightens, ready to settle into a fighting stance, only to find Sokka already flying at him, his sword a blur as it arcs towards him. With a surprised shout, Zuko brings his swords back up just in time to block Sokka’s swing. Their blades crash together with a grating sound, and Zuko stumbles back.

“What are you doing?” Zuko yelps. He parries another swing, and dodges out of the way when Sokka lunges for him. He feels uncomfortably off-kilter.

“Sparring,” Sokka says with a savage grin. “Aren’t you?”

Zuko glares at him. He can feel his heart pounding in his ribcage, startled into action by Sokka’s surprise attack.

Zuko readjusts his grip, and on Sokka’s next swing, he knocks Sokka’s blade out of the way with one sword, and swings at Sokka with the other. 

Sokka yelps and barely twists out of the way in time. Zuko’s sword slices through empty air.

Sokka steps back, putting some distance between the two of them. They eye each other, wary.

“I told you I’d kick your ass,” Sokka says.

“You cheated,” Zuko growls. “You attacked before I was ready.”

“What, you think the _Fire Lord_ is going to wait till you’re ready, _jerkbender_?” Sokka says. Zuko scowls. He knows when he’s being mocked.

Zuko lunges forward, swiping at Sokka’s chest. Sokka reels back, caught off guard, and when Zuko swings at him again, he trips backwards and lands flat on his back. His sword drags against the stone with a horrible scraping noise.

Zuko steps forward and holds his sword up to Sokka’s throat. Sokka glares up at him, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath again.

“You call that kicking my ass?” Zuko says.

Sokka bats Zuko’s sword away with his own and scrambles to his feet.

“I want a rematch,” he says.

Zuko eyes Sokka skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Best two out of three.”

Mentally shrugging, Zuko backs up and assumes a fighting stance, not taking his eyes off of Sokka. Sokka grins at him.

“What, no bow this time?”

“I’m not making the same mistake twice,” Zuko says.

Sokka laughs and falls into his own stance, his sword raised high and level with his shoulders. It’s familiar in a way that Zuko can’t place.

“You got this, Sokka,” Katara shouts. 

“Hey, Sparky! You better not lose; I made bets on you,” says Toph. Zuko tries to quash his amusement. 

Sokka lunges forward, an experimental jab that Zuko easily deflects. Zuko counters with his own swing, and Sokka nimbly dodges out of the way.

Zuko follows up with a series of swipes and jabs, testing the waters, and is privately impressed when Sokka manages to dodge and deflect every one—especially with his own two swords against Sokka’s one.

“Hey, don’t hold back,” Sokka says, and he suddenly spins and levels a blow at Zuko that leaves his arms tingling and puts him, very abruptly, on the defensive.

Briefly, Zuko thinks that he may have misjudged Sokka’s abilities. 

_Screw it,_ Zuko thinks. Taking Sokka’s words to heart, Zuko stops holding back _,_ and gives Sokka everything he has. He can tell that Sokka notices, because he falters, just barely, and Zuko seizes his advantage. 

Sokka yelps in surprise, and Zuko feels a satisfied thrill rush through his veins. Zuko thrives on the offensive, and he doesn’t waste any time in forcing Sokka backwards, towards the fountain. Sokka looks panicked, struggling to keep up as he barely manages to parry Zuko’s blows.

Sokka ends up pressed against the edge of the fountain, trapped. For a split second, Zuko considers pushing him in, but then thinks that Katara might actually murder him if he did.

Then Zuko thinks that Katara must have decided to go ahead and murder him anyways, despite him having done nothing particularly provocative, because he very suddenly finds himself with a face full of ice-cold water.

Zuko splutters, reeling backwards. He’s reaching to wipe his eyes with his forearm—he can’t _see_ , damn it—when something very solid connects with his chest and sends him flying backwards. A foot, he realizes belatedly. 

Zuko lands on his back with a solid thud, and all of the air in his chest rushes out of him at once. He lays there for a second, gasping like a wet fish, before forcing his eyes open. He finds himself nose-to-nose with the tip of Sokka’s sword. 

“I thought we said no bending,” Zuko wheezes.

“You don’t need to be a bender to splash a little water in someone’s face,” Sokka says, a smug grin on his lips. There’s a whoop from the audience, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Zuko scowls at him. “That’s dirty fighting.”

“It’s not against the rules,” Sokka says. He pulls his sword away from Zuko’s face and holds out his hand. Zuko swallows his pride and grasps it, letting Sokka haul him to his feet.

Sokka’s hand is warm and damp with sweat. Strangely enough, Zuko doesn’t find it disgusting. He has the same callouses on his palm as Zuko—a swordsman’s hand. It makes Zuko wonder how long he’s been training with a sword.

Sokka squeezes Zuko’s hand, and Zuko realizes, embarrassed, that he’s been holding on to Sokka’s hand for way too long. He quickly pulls away, trying to ignore the way his face is burning.

“So, it’s one-one now,” Sokka says. Either he’s oblivious to Zuko’s embarrassment, or he’s ignoring it for his sake. “Next round wins.”

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” Zuko says.

Sokka scoffs. “You think I’m a quitter?”

“I’m not going easy on you,” Zuko says. 

“I know,” Sokka says. “Honestly, I’d be kind of offended if you did.”

They take their places again. Zuko adjusts his grip on his swords, his sweaty palms slipping against the hilts. His shoulders are burning, and he’s kind of regretting agreeing to a sparring session right after firebending practice.

Zuko steels himself, and attacks.

The third round is a lot more strained than the first two. Zuko can feel himself tiring, and he can’t seem to gain the upper hand, no matter what he does. Sokka, for his part, looks as fresh and energetic as ever, grinning savagely as he trades blows with Zuko. 

Zuko blocks a particularly hard swing, and he feels the vibrations all the way up his left arm, deep into his bone. It feels like his teeth are rattling inside his skull. It _hurts_ , like a bitch, and Zuko lets out a loud curse, his sword clattering to the ground.

“Language, Zuko,” Sokka quips, already readying himself for another swing. “There are children present.”

“Yeah, watch your fucking mouth, Zuko!” Toph yells. Zuko huffs and dodges Sokka’s blade, resigning himself to fighting with one sword.

“Hey, we’re even now!” Sokka says as he advances on Zuko. His grin can only be described as shit-eating.

“If you thought it was unfair you could have said something,” Zuko says, scowling. His lungs are screaming for air.

“That’s okay. I liked the challenge,” Sokka says. He wipes the few strands that have fallen free from his wolftail out of his face. “I’ve only trained against people with one sword before.”

Before Zuko can even try to catch his breath, Sokka is coming at him again. Their swords meet in a horrible cacophony of metal on metal, and Zuko tries not to wince too obviously at the sound.

They separate, and then come together again, trading blow after blow. Zuko’s muscles are on fire. He knows he’s more technically skilled than Sokka, but exhausted as he is and missing a sword, they’re on more even ground now, and neither of them manage to gain the advantage. 

Zuko swings at Sokka, a wide arcing sweep from the side. Sokka brings his sword up, and the two clash together, coming to a violent, screeching stop. Zuko presses forward, pushing his blade harder against Sokka’s, his shoulders screaming as he braces against Sokka’s weight. 

They push against each other, at an impasse. Zuko refuses to pull away, unwilling to leave himself in such a vulnerable position. He tries to ignore the trembling in his arms, the ache in his lungs, and instead focuses on Sokka’s face.

Sokka is close enough that Zuko can see the concentration on his face as he pushes back against Zuko. The dark furrow of his brow, the crease of his mouth as he strains harder, pushing the swords together with a sharp scraping noise. Zuko can see the small beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. He can see the way the loose strands of hair are sticking to Sokka’s skin, damp with sweat. 

Up this close, Zuko can see things that he never bothered to notice because he was too busy isolating himself from everyone, like the slope of his nose, and the curve of his lips. The dark fan of lashes around his eyes. 

Sokka’s eyes are blue, Zuko realizes. A bright, electrifying blue. Zuko doesn’t know when they locked eyes, but he can’t seem to make himself look away. They’re still fighting, still struggling against each other, but there’s an intensity in Sokka’s gaze that is distracting enough to almost make him forget about it.

Zuko sees Sokka glance down. Their blades slip a little, squealing plaintively as they scrape together. Sokka’s tongue darts out a little, wets his lips. Zuko finds his gaze drawn to the movement. He wonders if Sokka is staring at his lips too. 

For a split second, Zuko wonders what Sokka’s lips might feel like.

The fantasy doesn’t last very long, though, because the next thing he knows, Zuko is curled up on the ground, and he is in so much pain that he can’t breathe. 

“Holy shit!” Someone is yelling, somewhere. It sounds like Toph. “Sokka, did you just kick Zuko in the _nuts?_ ”

Zuko had always kind of wondered what betrayal felt like. He really should apologize to Uncle Iroh. It’s not a nice feeling.

“Oh, spirits. Zuko, I’m so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to kick you that hard,” Sokka says. His voice is coming from somewhere above Zuko. “We just weren’t getting anywhere, so I thought that might work, but I _swear_ I didn’t mean to do it that hard. Are you okay?”

Zuko groans. He thinks he might throw up. 

Theres a flurry of footsteps as everyone makes their way over. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that Sokka won round three,” Katara says. 

“No kidding,” says another voice. Zuko thinks it might be The Duke. He can’t tell—he has his eyes squeezed shut as tight as they’ll go.

“Are you alright, Zuko?” Aang asks. “Sokka, that was kind of mean.”

“It’s okay,” Zuko wheezes. “I was distracted. It was a smart move.” Zuko takes a couple of deep breaths, and then he forces himself to sit up. 

Sokka is standing in front of him, looking apologetic. He holds his hand out, and Zuko gratefully takes it, hauling himself to his feet. 

“I really am sorry, Zuko,” Sokka says. “We can have a rematch, if you want.”

“I think I’m done for the day,” Zuko says. “I need to go wash off, anyways.”

“Yeah, you do kind of stink, Zuko,” Aang says. 

“Thanks.”

“That was pretty cool, though,” Teo says, wheeling himself over. “You guys are both really good.”

Sokka seems to preen at the praise, puffing his chest out. He shoots Zuko a smug look.

“I think you two should do this more often,” Toph says. “We get entertainment watching you two beat the shit out of each other, and you two get to blow off some steam. It’s a win-win.” She pauses. “Although you really should work on your defence, Zuko. Now I have to clean Appa’s toes for a week because of you.”

“Sorry,” Zuko says. “I’ll try harder.”

Everyone continues to talk as they clear out. Zuko retrieves his fallen swords and slides them back into the scabbard, then makes his way back over to the group. As they walk to camp, Sokka falls into step beside Zuko. 

“What do you think?” Sokka asks.

“About what?” Zuko says.

“You want to do this again? I promise I won’t kick you in the nuts again.”

Zuko considers. He looks at the group around him, a bunch of kids chattering away as they walk along. They seem a lot more laid-back, a lot more relaxed. He doesn’t feel like anybody is shooting him weird looks anymore. Not exactly acceptance, but a start, at least.

“I think it’s good for the others,” Zuko says.

“But what about you? Do _you_ want to do it again?” Sokka says. He sounds earnest, open, like he genuinely cares about what Zuko thinks and feels and wants.

Zuko glances at Sokka. At his perfect brown skin. At his open smile. His bright eyes. His calloused hands. It hits him, then, why Sokka asked him to spar with him.

Zuko feels a burst of warmth in his chest. This boy he barely knows, that he spent months hunting down and antagonizing, who has every right to hate him with every fibre of his being, is actually trying to make him feel welcome. Is trying to pull him out of his shell and get Zuko to open up, maybe the only way he knows how.

It’s so…thoughtful.

He wants to get to know Sokka better, Zuko realizes. He wants to get to know them all better. 

He wants to know what it’s like to belong—and he thinks Sokka might have the answer.

“Sure,” Zuko says. “Let’s do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](http://ddickpuncher420.tumblr.com). Sometimes I post art.


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